


Sun In Our Eyes

by MatchaMochi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Jokes, Langst, M/M, Swearing, Waffles, crack??, fluff?, my city now, no beta :(, one sided allurance shance klance, pining ryan kinkade, sniper boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 16:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaMochi/pseuds/MatchaMochi
Summary: “Think you can beat me hotshot?”He doesn’t falter, just nods and holds up his sniper. His hands don’t shake, his lips don’t tremble, (his heart though, that wild erratic thing stuttering in his chest, makes the blood rush to his ears, makes him think: Oh god.)///In which Kinkade pines and Lance has too many feelings.





	Sun In Our Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So like all I know bout Kinkade is that he’s hot as hell, stoic, and the best shooter in the team, what is his first name even?? Anyway this is just me fooling around with what ifss and was inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbhCRL0vCj8) and I can't stop listening to Undercover by shinee when I wrote this for some reason :’) (Update: his first name is ryan and he has a jock-like respect for lance. Damn.)

There’s a certain angle of light that makes his eyes glow, when he shifts his chin to the side, and faces Ryan with a cool and steady look. Midnight aquamarine with a tilted, taunting mouth. His brown curls sway a little to the side when he smirks,

“ _Think you can beat me hotshot?”_

He doesn’t falter, just nods and holds up his sniper. His hands don’t shake, his lips don’t tremble, (his heart though, that wild erratic thing stuttering in his chest, makes the blood rush to his ears, makes him think: _Oh god._ ) He takes a deep slow breath ( _midnight aquamarine),_ aims ( _bright, ringing laughter)_ , presses the trigger ( _soft, quiet smile)._

Ryan is close, but Lance’s shot marks the spot right next to his, dead centre and true. He grips his sniper tight, breath going steady. A centimetre closer than last time, he feels satisfied and he counts it as a win. He lowers down his sniper and steps back, ‘ _a centimetre closer to dark blues and a beaming smile.’_

“ _Nice shot Kinkade,”_

He blinks, looks at Lance with surprise. They’ve been practicing for a while now, it’s his first time hearing Lance say his name like that. Soft and proud, and though he remembers that Lance has a big family, has two younger cousins and brothers and sisters his heart still jumps up as he tries to will it down. He hides the tremble in his fingers by clutching his sniper close to him.

He couldn’t help the quiet, shy smile though, gives it to the floor instead of Lance as he snickers beside him.

‘ _It’s just a crush.’_

Temporary, hot, and so, so, bright. It’s fireworks and bonfires to be silent and dark the very next day. Embers and smoke to be left behind when Lance McClain suddenly disappears from the Garrison. He smells the smoke itching his nose when days and months later they hear from Voltron. The embers heat his skin to a warmth that he thought was long gone as he sees Lance approaching them in the hangar.

Ryan notes the little difference from the Lance Then and the Lance that is Now as they discuss their plan for the mission. He spies how his brown curls had reached the edge of his ears instead of at the top, gazes at the midnight blue of his eyes, now painted with things he does not know, things he fears for Lance when he looks away. He wonders about the hard stance of his shoulders, pride brimming from him when he sees the sure steps of a person he once knew hides the fear of failure in his lax posture. ‘ _It’s just a crush- ‘_

He can’t help the quick leap of his heart when Lance speaks to him, his voice is just as he remembered from before, light and clear though now tinged with a low cadence that he now associates with one of the reasons why it was so damn hard to look at Lance. ‘ _Just a crush,’_

And he finds out that the warmth in his skin isn’t scorching hot like before, when he aims his sniper with Lance near him it isn’t the overwhelming brightness of the sun bearing down his back, when they talk its quiet, comfortable. It’s a welcoming breeze and the lilting voice of a friend ( _really?)_ , its steady hands and quiet breathing ( _just a crush…. right?)_. He relishes their time together, and when they part James pats his shoulder briefly, his eyes are serious when he says, “ _I need everyone with me right now Kinkade,”_ but his mouth goes up in a crooked smile after, “ _maybe you can try asking him when all of this is done and over with alright?”_

He shrugs, pulls his sniper close to his heart.

-

Winning the war was something he thought happened in disjointed uncoordinated flashes.

Here, he’s with James guarding the perimeter, there, he’s with his family, his mother clutching his arm, his father looking down at him with sad eyes. This one, when Lance and Veronica crashes and his breath stops, eyes wild, that one, him in the MFE shooting down the enemy and praying that whatever goes on after this, he gets to see the light flashing in deep sea blues.

And finally, when everything ends, and he hugs his mother and catches his father trying not to cry he remembers the screeching sound of fighter pilots, the _bang bang bang_ of guns, the deafening sound of explosions. The death, the sorrow and the fight. No one sleeps any better than him, he honours the dead by pushing on, breathing steady, eyes sharp.

Had it really been days since Voltron came? It had felt like months, years even.

He clenches his fist and thought about all the paladins resting in the hospital. The loud chatter and the lively atmosphere he’d glimpsed that one time he had passed through Lance’s room. James voice echoes in his ears, Nadia not far behind saying, ‘ _He’s not going to stay here forever you know,’_

He passes through the hallway and doesn’t say a word.

-

He should’ve seen it coming really, but they meet at the training room of the Garrison.

Kinkade has been coming by every night when the dorms he was staying in had felt too small, when the _tap tap tap_ of footsteps outside his room brings him back to the seconds before a detonation, the crack and boom that follows, the ash and smoke. The sweat under his clothes wasn’t going to help him sleep anyway.

He comes here instead, shoulders firm, breathing steady, aims, and shoot, tries to get in the rhythm and forget the screaming screech of metal, fire, and his dead comrades. He walks in, his sniper slung behind him, sighing as he readies himself for another long night alone.

Except tonight Lance is already there.

He’s in a white tank top, his jacket tied to his waist. The shirt is sweat soaked over his bandaged chest, his bronze skin glistens with it, the curls at his forehead sticks to his skin. Its night time so the lights around them are dimmed in a mellow warm white, it hits his face and he feels his heart stutter when he sees the glow in his eyes.

 Lance is gripping his rifle so tight his arms were shaking with it, he’s glaring at the targets across the walls, his breathing heavy. And when he sees it he can’t help the sharp intake of breath that pierces through the silence of the room.

But he can’t stop staring at it. All the targets, spread across the room where he _knew_ Lance would hit them with his eyes closed, were bare. The marks where Lance had shot so far off that it looked more like an accident than an attempt to fire.

“Enjoying the view?”

He startles, shaking his head slowly when he gets Lance’s wry grin, “I’m sorry I was just- “

“It’s fine.” Lance sighs then, running his hand through his hair as he looks away.

Ryan hesitates before stepping in, unsure whether his presence was welcome. Lance brushes his worry away with four steps, holding his hand out, “Kinkade right? I heard you always stay here actually, mind if I crash in tonight?”

Lance’s skin is soft and slender as they shake hands, he finds the strange urge to stroke his thumb on it. He shrugs, “Ryan’s fine, and it’s no problem. I’d like the company.” he pauses, looking at Lance questioningly, “Unless you….?”

Lance snorts, pulling his hand away to take his rifle again, “Nah I was just messing around, couldn’t really find a place to concentrate you know?”

Ryan hums back at him as an answer. He knows only too well.

When he pulls out his gun thoughts jumped in his mind unbidden even as he tries to control it, sour ones like _‘he doesn’t remember you from before,’_ , hopeful ones with, _‘does he know me from the mission?’_ and another, loud and pressing, urging him to say something along the lines of, ‘ _why were you crying?’_

He shakes it away, loosening the collar of his garrison jacket a little. Beside him, Lance stills, stares at his posture. Having an audience doesn’t normally unnerve him, imagining Lance’s eyes on him though…. Ryan swallows dryly before he shoots. He shoots again at another target, feeling a smile tugging at his lips when he remembers how he would imitate the gun at his mother’s shooting range. _Pew! Pew! Pew!_ He was such a quiet child then, the only time he got excited was at that place really.

He gets into the rhythm easily, his concentration on only the steady, aim, and shoot of his sniper in hand. Soon, the presence of Lance doesn’t bother him anymore, he is a silent observer, eyes darting to him and the target. The quiet is comfortable here, he can feel that breeze from before brushing his face, makes the footsteps outside like a steady beat, his shots a ringing noise that they acknowledge together with quiet hums. He lets Lance fill him, wonders if the calm waves of the sea feel like this; peaceful and in motion.

Then a sudden exhale, a quiet thump and he sees its Lance sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at the ceiling, “What are you thinking about Ryan?”

He stops short, lowering his sniper. He thinks about lying, it wasn’t like Lance could tell but he hates being dishonest. He thinks about not answering all together, but he doesn’t want it to be awkward between them. He opts for the truth, jaw set when he looks at Lance and says,

“Someone I admire.”

Lance whips his head back at him in surprise, eyes glowing. Putting his chin on his hands, he grins at him, “Oh? Mind telling me who?”

When he grunts in reply, Lance laughs and shakes his head, “It’s fine,” he laughs again, this one a high disbelieving sound, “I was actually thinking about someone too.”

Lance hums beside him again, and he looks so, so _small_ like this. The low lights make the upturn of his lips more of a grimace, the roiling seas in his eyes are sad and confused. Then, when he was just ready to shoot again he hears a quiet murmur, so silent that he wonders if he was meant to hear it at all, “ _I don’t know if I can…”_

He freezes. Feeling lost suddenly in a long, long time. Should he? He doesn’t know. ‘ _Take the step.’_ Midnight aquamarine. Bright laughter. Quiet smile. ‘ _Ask him, ask him, ask him,’_

He breathes in,

“Can what?”

Lance’s voice is shaky, and he sees his hands are white knuckled where it rests on his thigh,

“Let go.”

-

It’s like pulling into low tide, the calm after the storm. The tension from before recedes into quiet conversations and even quieter chuckles. And incredibly, _amazingly_ , they stay like that until midnight turns into a dream and morning something he wishes would not come. They talk and laugh, he shoots, and Lance sits, his hands on his rifle but never moving from his spot.

They talk about the Garrison ( _Iverson, the gossips and the pranks, the tests and the assholes, the weird cafeteria food and the small dorms)_ , their teammates ( _complaints and relationships. There’s more here, judging by the way Lance bites his bottom lip. But he doesn’t press, he thinks, ‘maybe later’)_ , their family ( _Lance blooms, radiant when he talks about them, being an only child, he finds himself yearning for the easy contact Lance craves beneath his sun warm skin and agile fingers)._

It’s only when they notice the dim lights beginning to brighten that he realises that its going to be dawn soon. He starts to line up for one last shot before suddenly, Lance walks over to him, rifle left behind. His smile is beaming, mischievous. But then, he comes closer and closer, and he tries not to stiffen when the searing warmth of Lance’s arm around his back runs to his skin, when his face is right next to him, centimetres close, his other hand on Ryan’s,

“I find it easier to hold it farther when your arms are tired,” Lance whispers, eyes on the target. Ryan struggles to breathe, “or when it gets too heavy.” They shift, he tries to concentrate on the target, not on the soft, smooth skin on his own, the puffs of air near his cheek, the smell of _Lance,_ fruity and clear with some shampoo or conditioner he doesn’t know. He swallows air and pulls the trigger.

It hits the target, dead centre and true.

Then, just as suddenly, Lance gives out a startled yelp pulling away from him as if he burned, ( _and wasn’t he? Waves and waves of molten hot lava over his chest, how did he ever survive this man?)._ Lance sputters out a flushed apology before heading out of the room after snatching back his rifle.

“ _Wait!”_

Damn it. He said that out loud. How desperate did he really look right now? He trains his face into its normal passive expression again, looking up at Lance who has his back to him at the doorway.

“Can I…. can we meet up here again tomorrow?”

It feels like eternity before he hears the short breathless laugh, Lance nods to the side,

“Sure, why not?”

When he walks back to his room, he greets his teammates with a small nod and a straight face. In his chest, the bangs get louder, hits his ribcage and he bites his tongue, ‘Calm down, _calm down’_

Nadia smirks at him though, and he only grunts in reply.

 

* * *

 

Lance stopped sleeping in the hospital room when the smell of antiseptic in the air made him dry heave in the toilet. The bandage still stays in place, the scars and bruises under them makes lying down a difficult job. He manages anyway, giving Veronica a wide reassuring smile and an offhand comment that always bring her to scowl and return his smile in the end.

He stays in her room now, resting, talking with Allura, his family, Hunk. Staring out the window, he dreams of mellow sunlight and loud, crashing waves far, far away from here. He dreams of the castle of lions, Keith’s firm voice, Shiro’s warm hand on his shoulder, Allura’s beaming smile. It all seemed so distant now, had he really been to space, had everything really happened that brought him here? Now? Torn, pulled, rearranged into someone he would’ve barely knew before he was shipped off by a blue space cat?

He swallows heavily, hands shaking when he remembers the wind tearing through his hair, his sister injured behind him, the Galra ship’s shadow a behemoth ready to ram them down. How he’d been so _ready_ to just let go. What did it really say about himself when honestly all he felt in that moment was relief?

These dreams are twisted and dark, but he doesn’t call them nightmares because its filled with the people he loves and yearns for, a whining dog searching for attention, a weak tree clinging to its last roots. He dreams in his sister’s room and he hear Keith’s voice beside him,

“ _I trust you Lance.”_ Alright, he’d say. Me too, a hesitant smile. It doesn’t matter, Keith’s already turning away from him.

 _“You can do this Lance,”_ Thank you, he swallows down a sob, takes a step back. Shiro shakes his head at him in disappointment before he walks away.

 _“Stay safe Lance”_ You too! He wants to cry, but Allura holds his hands in a steady grip and kisses his red cheeks and trembling fingers.

“I don’t think we can do this.” He had said that to her. And for once, he wishes that too, was a dream. But he remembers the understanding look on Allura’s face, her earrings had caught the light behind them, makes him remember a time where he wanted to push back the pale white hair caught in them behind her long-tipped ears. He still wants to, honestly.

But Allura, strong, kind Allura, a princess- no, a queen in her own right for all she had done for everyone, does not need him. She has responsibilities so heavy he sees the weight of a whole world on her shoulders, the strength of a universe and the confident face of someone who is ready to do anything for good. He knows it well, it’s a face he fell for time and time again. ( _Its also the loud red voices of sparring at his shoulders and the comforting weight of black behind him but Lance had always been so, so easy to fall in love- no one taught him how to let go,)_

He doesn’t know if he can do it, to have that unnerving courage and face death and loss and sorrow and so many other things. She doesn’t need him, with his tattered shoulders and weathering back. He just hopes she finds happiness either way, whoever it is. But it will not be him.

“I’ll always be here for you Lance.”

He nods and smile, waves at her in goodbye as she leaves the room. He shakes his head.

They always say that.

 

There’s this hissing voice in his head, whenever he goes in a downward spiral, hands clawing through his hair, cold sweat staining the sheets under him. The voice is low and hateful, threatening and dark, but the thing that always struck him to his core was that it sounded exactly like his.

It’s a nightmare now, and in it he sees himself with black eyes and an ugly smile slashed across his face.

‘ _What do you really want Lance?’_

That dreaded hissing voice again. He trembles in his bed, tries to sit up. Why does his shoulders feel so _heavy?_

His breath hitched when a firm weight clasped his shoulder, moving upwards to smooth its gloved hands to his sweaty skin, his nape, neck, cupping his cheek.

‘ _To be someone’s equal?’_

He shudders when he feels Keith’s hot breath at his face. The hand moves, another stroking his other shoulder now. And he shuts his eyes tightly when the sudden warmth at his back covers him. Just at the edges of his vision, he spies the long strands of pale hair curling around his neck, white and ethereal.

‘ _Someone’s_ first _choice?’,_ Allura croons softly. A sweet taunting that eats him whole,

 ‘ _or,’_

His throat is clogged and dry when a broad hand strokes his cheek, tips his chin up. Shiro’s murmur like rumbling thunder makes his heart beat wildly in fear,

‘ _Someone special?’_

And just like that it snaps and disappears. In its stead a real snake steps through the shadows, caressing his chest, bites the tip of his ears. He looks up in surprise to Lotor’s smirk, ‘ _What’s wrong Lance?’_ crisp and neat, his voice hisses like venom in his veins, ‘ _are you scared?’_

He shots out of the bed with a stinging kiss on his lips. His breathing is shallow, quick, ‘ _calm down, calm down_ ’ he tells himself, ‘ _it’s just a nightmare.’_

It takes him a while for his heart to steady, for him to stop clenching his fist. He breathes in, breathes out. He can’t stay here.

He gets up on shaky legs, grabs his bayard and heads to the training room.

-

Ryan is there again when he steps in. Sometimes he waits for him there, other times Lance lounges around the area, chats up with anyone around before striding along with Ryan when Lance spots him and they both walk away to practice. ( _For what really? Haven’t they had enough enemies already? But Lance knows about the whispers around the area; an altean sitting in the robot’s belly. Mystery upon mystery, he doesn’t let it sway him. He holds his bayard close and shoots.)_

It’s a comfortable routine to Lance by now, late midnight to the minutes before dawn, he has the reassuring weight of his rifle and the quiet, steady presence of Ryan by his side. An anchor that pulls him in with his soft hums and warm gaze ( _a dark kind of olive, Lance swears sometimes he sees it shine golden)._ He’s mildly aware that he’s casually flirting with Ryan actually, and if you press him enough Lance would eventually admit that yes, he would take him to bed any day.

He’s dashing and calm, when Lance shoots sometimes he imagines tracing his fingers down his jaw or curling it around his dark brown hair, tugging it to him. His arms aren’t that bad too, could Ryan pick him up easily? Hmmmm…. _He_ certainly wouldn’t object. ( _Shiro has bigger biceps though,)_ Lance giggles quietly at that.

“What is it?”

He glances at Kinkade biting his lower lip, “Nah, it’s nothing,”

“Lance, come on.”

He shakes his head smile growing when he sees Ryan frown, “Its nothing man! Just- well- “

“You were staring at me.”

He blinked. “I was?”

“Yeah.”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking down at the floor with guilt, “Well…” it wasn’t like anyone would know, Ryan is quiet, and he’d made Hunk swear over their beautiful friendship that he won’t tell anyone so there’s that. He shrugs looking back up at Ryan, “Just remembered this stupid crush I had,”

“Kogane or Shirogane?”

Yeah alright, if he was drinking right now he’d have done a spit take right then and there but he chokes on air instead so there’s not much different really. The heat rushes up to his face as he scrambles to hold his rifle properly and sputters,

“I- I- _what?_ How do you even- _no-_ I mean yes? _I don’t- “_

Ryan raises his eyebrows at him, “Both?”

“ _Once.”_ Lance finally takes in a deep breath before giving up on aiming all together, “ _Once_ okay. Shiro when I was in the Garrison, got over it.”

There’s this certain shine that comes to his olive brown eyes sometimes when he looks at Lance, _it’s amusement_ , he realises that now and oh no that is _not_ fair, _he_ was supposed to be the one doing the teasing damn it-

“And Kogane?”

“Right after I left to fight aliens in space,” he mumbles. He clears his throat, finally sitting down to stare at the floor more properly, “got over that too.”

Ryan hums then, coming to sit beside him. His voice is deep and soft when he says, “I thought you were dating the Princess actually,”

And no, they are _not_ going there. Lance huffs folding his arms together, mouth coming out as a pout when he glares at Ryan, “What’s this sudden interest in my love life huh? What about you _hotshot_ \- “he doesn’t miss the way Ryan’s eyes widen in surprise,” Got any girlfriend hiding anywhere in those perfect eyebrows? Or are you really dating Griffin?”

That actually throws him in a loop. He blinks, “You think I’m into James?”

“Yes?”

“I thought James was into Keith.”

“ _What- “_

“No?”

“No- wait I was asking about you- “

“And Nadia really likes your sister you know.”

Lance gapes at him.

They stare breathlessly at each other. Then something snaps, and Lance wheezes before howling into a full-blown laughter, “ _What-_ what the _fuck_ man. You _have_ to tell me where you’re getting all this info- “and he laughs again, tears at the edge of his eyes. Ryan is pursing his lips, but Lance can tell he was trying not to smile, a challenge he readily accepts. Lance grins at him,

“Next thing you’re going to tell me, Coran is actually dating _Kolivan,”_

“He’s not?”

“ _Oh my god- “_

And yes! Lance feels his heart soar in victory when he finally sees the small turn at the edge of his lips. Ryan shrugs,

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Shut _up_ and gimme the _deets_ man,”

Ryan shakes his head solemnly,

“No deets, just love man.”

And how the fuck is he keeping a straight face after saying that? Lance feels his cheeks ache from laughing too much, he smothers his laughter, tries to tone it down to a silent giggle. Ryan chuckles lowly, finally smiling at Lance.

“They never think I listen when they talk, and some people has…telling gestures.”

Lance smirks at him, “Yeah? no. I think you’re just a sly motherfucker Kinkade,”

And Ryan _does_ laugh at that, his broad shoulders shaking with it. Lance finds out with a stunning clarity that the corner of his eyes crinkles when he does that and that he has dimples. Incredible.

It takes Lance a moment to realise, ‘ _Oh.’_ And when Ryan gives him a burning gaze, olive browns smouldering to his own he thinks; ‘ _Oh no,’_ He licks his bottom lip,

“You didn’t answer the question you know,”

“Yeah.”

A minute of silence, before it drags to two, and when it almost reaches three Lance scowls and punches his arm, “What? You’re not going to tell me?”

There’s that light of amusement again in his eyes, he shrugs, winked, (fucking _winked,)_ at Lance,

“It’s just a stupid crush.”

No no no, his heart wasn’t supposed to sink at that, his stupid head shouldn’t be hoping it was him, how many times should the universe nail it to him before he fucking _learns?_ He asks anyway because he likes to hurt himself like that and what does it matter really? It never ends easy.

“How are they like?”

Ryan looks at Lance like someone had hung the moon, no, the whole _universe_ for him to have, and Lance yearns and yearns and _yearns._ He says,

“ _They’re amazing.”_

 

* * *

There are groups and relief teams sent out from the Garrison when the government finally gives the all-clear for citizens to go back to their homes from far away shelters. The recovery mission is sent out to every corner of the world, naturally, everyone goes back to their hometown and tries to salvage what they can. The others, who knows certain areas were much urgent than others, volunteers to help them. Food, water, cement, and wood. The stray survivor, the dead bodies. It’s a long process.

When Ryan tells his mother that he wants to go volunteer she smiles at him softly with understanding, his father is quiet beside her, but he tells Ryan to come back when he’s ready and that he doesn’t have to worry, them and their relatives at home are enough, and the damage is minimal at best. He nods and takes it in stride. He doesn’t tell them where he’s going to volunteer.

The regulations aren’t strict, they can choose wherever they want to go as long as it isn’t too crowded. He stares at the board; his shoulder is steady. It’s selfish he knows, so unlike him, to throw everything to the side for someone who doesn’t even remember him the year before.

_“Varadero beach? Where do I even start? Sand as white as the moon, sea that kind of blue-green you see in gems. Your eyes are laughing at me Ryan I can tell! Shut up and enjoy me being poetic for once okay?”_

A conversation several nights after the announcement of the all-clear. He hasn’t met Lance ever since that one. His hand itches to put his name on the board, but he remembers what comes after and only sighs to himself.

“ _Are you going to go back?”_

_“Of course! Our house is in shambles but the restaurant beside the beach is still standing, who knew Sendak likes waffle houses?”_

_“I don’t know, I think they’re pretty standard alien food.”_

_“You kiss your mother with that mouth?!”_

_“Every single day- “_ Lance had scoffed, he had tried not to grin back, before he sobered quickly, _“Anyway, I’m…I’m going to volunteer.”_

_“Oh. Where’re you gonna go?”_

_“I was thinking…”_

_“Yeah?”_

“ _Cuba.”_

He winces remembering the awkward silence after that, the way Lance had shifted away from him, as if he was _afraid_ of him suddenly. When he says, “ _Why?”_ It’s nervous and quiet, and not for the first time Ryan wonders if he did a horrible, terrible mistake. But he’d ventured headlong to it anyway, he’s stubborn and Lance _has_ to know by now right? He wasn’t exactly being subtle about it, or was it not enough? It’s too late now. He can hear himself saying,

“ _I want to go with you.”_

And he remembers the way Lance had shook his head quickly, the way he’d muttered, “ _No no,”_

He’d left after that, said something about needing to take care of his nephew. It doesn’t matter, they both know it was just an excuse.

It hurts. He bites his bottom lip when he remembers the lonely nights after that, Lance had been such a constant presence he’d forgotten how quiet it could be without him. The lights are dimmer, the air stuffy. He sighs before giving up, heads back to his room earlier than usual. He feels lost again, was that always something he’d have to deal with when he’s with Lance?

Wandering into nowhere, kicked again and again just when he’d thought he had caught the sea breeze in his hands. It’s a rejection, right? But can he even call it that when nothing ever came up in the first place? Midnight aquamarine, bright laughter, and a soft smile. Things he wants to cherish and love but things that always seem to drift further away from him whenever he swims closer.

He stares at the board again. ‘ _Take it.’_ Raises his hand at the name slot, ‘ _Take the chance.’_ He exhales lowly, walking back to his room to pack his things.

If he _is_ going to get lost, he’d rather get lost with Lance by his side.

-

 

It’s definitely something Lance would say considering his time spent floating in space, but he has to admit; these waffles are _out of this world._ He munches on them slowly, savouring its crispy edges and honey syrup, the strawberry in the middle and the butter melting through. His mother had always teased him about his sweet tooth.

The others are out hanging around the harbour, all the menial labour done for the day. They’d shed their jackets and shoes, some even whooping and plunging themselves in the water. Varadero beach is grey and the colour of the sea is dark and muddy with debris and destruction. It doesn’t stop them from having a good time. 

He himself had thrown out his garrison jacket, and even the shirt under that. He’s not trying to say anything by only wearing his dark tank top and garrison pants really ( _truly, honestly_ ). He’s fully aware of how sweaty he is, how the tank top doesn’t _quite_ cover his chest or the wide expanse of his shoulders but then again, he wasn’t the only one playing this game. Ah, there he is, right on time.

Ryan has been here for five days so this is the sixth time he spots Lance walking down the beach from the town. It doesn’t matter, his heart beats louder in his ears every single time. He always changes colour but its always the same assortment of clothes on him; tank top and shorts. The first time he’d seen Ryan he had startled before raising his eyebrows in challenge. The first time he’d seen Lance he’d said,

“ _Legs.”_

The waiter beside him seemed puzzled,

“ _What?”_

“ _Kegs. Didn’t know it was there at the back.”_

He doesn’t even blink when the waiter frowned at him, “ _Uh, okay?”_

He’d sigh to himself that time. ‘ _Nice save Kinkade.’_

It’s _there_ though, all long, smooth skin and slender thighs. He sips his coffee with steady hands, but his eyes are a resigned ‘ _Ah, fuck.’_   It’s a one on one stare off to see who would cave in first. Lance would stride in the beach with his long legs and slim arms while they’d just, _stare_ at each other before he turns the other way and walks back to town. He always looks back at Lance with a resolute face, back straight to see what he’d do, and minutes after he’ll resume eating when he can’t see his figure disappearing in the distance anymore.

This time Lance has a determined look set in his face, he’s heading to the restaurant with a purpose that he can see from all the way over here. Oh, and he’s wearing a light blue crop top. He hums, he thinks he’s way past heart attacks now, maybe it’s some sort of terminal coma, where he’s just numb all over by the presence of Lance. Is it weird to think that his belly button looks cute?

He finishes the waffle quietly, eyeing the short ( _short shorts?)_ dark jeans. It’s all cool, he’d always thought Lance had a very good butt ( _he believes the correct term for it is…. ‘perky’_ ). He waits silently at the edge of the building, the _thump thump thump_ of the wooden floorboards making his table move a little to the side. At the other side, Lance is glaring at him, his chest heaving from stomping his way here, his eyes narrowed down at him. Ryan nods at him,

“Hey.”

Lance scowls before dropping down at the chair across him. Then he hisses,

“ _A month.”_

He nods again, “That’s about thirty days.”

“Ryan, you’re gonna be here for a _month?”_

He shrugs, “They need immediate supplies from the other cities, the people from other cities wants to go back here.” He notes the way Lance’s shoulders finally droops, the way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek, “We’re pilots, but we can only do so much when there’s not enough transportation for us to handle with.” Lance sighs. He tilts his head to the side.

“So, we do it slow and steady.” They both say.

Ryan closes his eyes, opens them again once he feels Lance looking at him. Takes a breath,

“Look, Lance.” he can’t help rubbing the back of his neck, this is another thing unlike him, acting shy when he’s been chasing Lance for days now? “I…they asked me if I want to be stationed in Havana- “he blinks when Lance snorts at him, waves him away and shakes his head, “Nah, just an old joke, you were saying?”

He nods and continues, “They want me to see if some of the jets there can be used again. I don’t…” He doesn’t what? Want to be seen like someone desperate clinging to false hope? He hates people who won’t take no for an answer, he doesn’t want to be that person. He doesn’t want Lance to hate him. 

“If you want me to stay, I will.” Is what he ends up saying instead, head ducked down, fingers tapping the worn wood of the table.

It’s a long, long pause before he hears a reply. The waves crashes at the beach, salty sea breeze pushing his hair wildly to the side. Lance’s voice is quiet and tentative, like stepping into a cold pond with no shoes.

“My sister…” he clears his throat, starts again, “Veronica’s usually the one taking my niece and nephew from school.” Ryan blinks. What? Lance shrugs, “She’s in the Garrison now though, and half of the school’s classrooms are destroyed.” Lance bites his bottom lip, “They’re repairing them right now actually. Was gonna go there to help and give out lunch. My niece and nephew, they get really excited when they see new faces you know? And my folks would appreciate the extra muscle.”

Oh.

Lance sighs heavily before getting up and mumbling, “You’re on break, now right? Meet me at the beach if you want to come,”

And then he’s gone.

The breeze hits him again, warm and refreshing.

Well.

-

 

The next couple of days is a dizzying wave of sun, people, Lance, more sun, labour, and _Lance._ It leaves him breathless, eyes wide and shaking. And it starts with him meeting the little cousins. Lance beside him tugging at his hand, grinning when they climbed at him, laughing outright when they asked him if he was a robot.

(‘ _He’s like the gatekeeper in that old Thor movie!’_

_Lance had wrinkled his nose at that,_

_‘What? No man is hotter than Idris Elba okay,’)_

Then he meets the brother, clasping his hand in a firm grip, his wife, a loud laugh and a hard smack at his back. The _other_ brother, who can’t stop glaring at him for some reason, and Lance’s…other sister?

( _‘Are you twins?’_

_They’d had smirk at him then. At the same time. It’s a little unnerving._

_Lance has that mischief shining in his eyes,_

_‘Guess.’)_

It’s the grandparents after that, with their aged skin and soft, warm eyes. They invite him home with the smell of boiled tomatoes and heating spices, making his mouth water as he helps nail the wood together, arranging the roof into a more respectable structure. Lance’s house is big and though parts of the rooms and kitchen is a mess they make do and smiles at him when he steps in with a polite nod.

His parents are another moment that has him looking to the side more times than he can count. It’s a mildly nervous affair, him introducing himself to Lance’s mother, turning to do the same with his father but blinks when he sees him already frowning at him. At least mama McClain had shook his hand and smiled warmly, her husband is distant and gruff. As he leaves after lunch, heading to the base near the beach before it gets too dark, Lance’s father grips his shoulder tightly and says,

“You hurt him you’re going to hear from me understand?”

He remembers the cold sweat trailing down his back. Was that a threat? He was threatened. Oh damn.

“ _Pap-_ Dad!” Lance had yelped, he blushed so hard Ryan wonders if he’d see sparks flying from the tip of his ears, “I told you it’s _not_ like that!” ( _he wishes it was though,)_

Ryan waves goodbye to Lance after he tells him that no, it’s fine. He can walk back perfectly fine alone. He has his looming thoughts to accompany him after all.

They don’t pull him back to base though, it’s ‘ _What ifs?’,_ and quiet ‘ _I want to…s’_ that tugs him to wander around the city, small towns. The moon hangs over the sky as he walks aimlessly through roads and shops. The crumbling buildings and the loud bars. He spots something shining inside one of the windows. Hanging lights and trinkets, it pulls his feet nearer thinking of the waves of Varadero beach and the colour of the night sky. It tells him; ‘ _Maybe one day,’_ so he goes in the jewellery shop without a second thought.

The next morning, he stares at the sapphire earrings on his hand a little too long, dark blue shining in the light, rainbows striking the ceiling when it hits the sun in a certain angle. He’d grimaced at the price yesterday, but honestly, he wouldn’t mind skipping his lunch from now on. ( _he needn’t have bothered really, Lance pulls him to his house every noon. The smell of spice and jasmine something he was accustomed to now,_ ).

He tells himself, ‘ _Tomorrow, I will tell him.’_

Tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes. And he feels the breeze and thinks, ‘ _Not yet…’_

Lance talks and talks, his beaming smile guiding him through the lifting and the pushing. He listens, through the childhood memories, the dumb accidents, the stupid pranks, lets the lilting note of Lance wash over him, caving in when Lance pushed at him to talk about his family. So, he does, about his fierce mother, his equally stoic father. Somewhere through the conversation he strips off his sweaty shirt off on instinct. All the way to afternoon he revels in the heated stare bearing down his back.

 _‘Tomorrow, tomorrow’_ he promises himself. But every time he meets Lance the next day his throat gets tighter, his hands cold. He shakes his head when another day goes by without him saying anything, the earrings sits inside his drawer, untouched. He sighs again in his bed and makes a promise for another day.

-

 

And finally, finally the last day for _tomorrow_ comes like a sudden flash of light. Ryan is scheduled to leave for the Garrison the very next day when the last shipments are safely secured here. Has it really been that long? It seemed just like yesterday when he was chewing himself out for staring at Lance’s crop top for too long.

He’s wearing it again anyway. This one is dark blue and soft, _‘Space boi’_ highlighted with twinkling stars at the back. It suits the night sky over them now, flutters enticingly whenever the sea waves crashes beside them. He’d forgot how he’d ended up here, the usual stray talk leading to the not so usual smile he lets Lance see.

And maybe it was surprise? Doubt? Whatever it was, Lance had looked so _pained_ though it disappears the next second. Lance brushes it off and tells him it’s nothing. The sun was setting then, he’d let Lance tug him to the beach when the stars starts to show, and the moon steadily crept towards the sky.

This is them now, the carpet of dark sky and shining stars above them, the moon illuminating their way. The grey sand under their feet, sinking to their toes, the dark sea, crashing with the loud beating of his heart, the warm breeze whispering at him, saying, ‘ _It’s not too late,’_

Lance is humming beside him now, staring at the sky while his arms sway, a small smile quirking his lips. It’s peaceful.

Ryan licks his bottom lip, takes a breath, opens his mouth,

“Hey that’s my star!”

He stops in his tracks, cocking his head up to the sky when Lance points excitedly up at the sky.

“Where?”

Lance laughs, shaking his head, “Man you don’t even sound wierded out but, since you asked,” he sticks his tongue out, squinting up, “You know _Regulus_?”

“The heart of the lion.” And he smiles since there was no one else here but them, the sky, the sea, and the distant music coming from the restaurant behind them crooning in Spanish, “The brightest star in Leo.”

Lance nods, grinning at him, “Mines riiight beside that one.”

“Not the centre?”

He shrugs, “Nah, that one already has a name.”

Ryan hums quietly, voice deep when he says, “When did you decide it was yours?”

“Thirteenth birthday.” Lance flops down on the sand, elbows on his knees, “sis forgot to buy me something, so she cooked up this bullshit about owning your dreams and picked the nearest star at her chart to give it to me.”

“So…it’s just, yours now?” he sits beside Lance, lets the warmth of body heat where their skin brush together to cover his arm.

“Yep. You can pick one too. Not like anyone’s stopping you.”

“Then I’d want the one beside yours.”

God, he feels like he just wants to hit himself sometimes.

Its already out there though. He lets them stew in the awkward silence for a while. Now or never, he thinks, so he clears his throat before Lance could get a word out.

“H-hey,” that’s Lance, his voice timid and unsteady. He scrambles for damage control as he tries not to look at Lance’s queasy face.

“We met before,” his eyes trace the sand at their feet, the perfect shine of Lance’s toenails, “before you went to space.”

Lance frowns, “But....you weren’t in the Garrison then,”

 “Yeah…you remember that arcade place where everyone goes to sneak out?”

“Uhuh…”

“There was a shooting range near there,”

“Oh!” There’s this different kind of warmth now, growing from his chest, running to the tip of his fingers. Lance beams at him, “You’re _that_ Ryan.”

He shrugs, “Wanted to go to the Garrison after I met you. You never missed you know.”

Lance smirks at him, “Don’t lie to me, I’m positive I was pretty buzzed out then. I missed _plenty._ ” He shakes his head, “Don’t know how I don’t remember though, what I _did_ remember was getting annoyed when someone nearly beat my record shot.”

He smirks back at Lance despite himself, “Pretty sure I’d beat it now.”

“No way!”

He shifts his head to the side, “Maybe we can try and see again?”

A sigh from beside him, “Yeah…”

He clenches his hands. Unclenches them. ‘ _Tell him.’_

“Lance I- “

“Hold that thought.”

Ryan faces him now, takes in the warm brown skin, the smattering freckles. Lance is unsure and nervous when he says, “I. Well sometimes.” He heaves out an exasperated sigh and throws his hands in the air, “Sometimes my feelings are fucking _confusing_ alright?”

When Ryan doesn’t say anything, he takes that as a cue to go on, “Sometimes I do something just for the sake of it, sometimes I get so _scared_ to do anything at all, sometimes, sometimes I feel so _alone_ even when I’m surrounded with the people I love most.” His chest is heaving, hands shaking when he runs them through his hair,

“My family. They threw a party for me when I got in the Garrison you know? Lights, and confetti’s, they pulled out all the stops. I was happy. _Of course,_ I was happy. But just then, while Ma was hugging me, while Veronica smiled at me, I thought to myself; ‘What if I fail? What would everyone say if I told them I didn’t make it?’ Stupid right? I felt like the only one in the room then. Like I’m drowning in the sea.” Another shaky breath,

“And. And when I didn’t get to the fighter class I didn’t know what to think. But, well.” He shrugs, a laugh tearing out of his mouth, ugly and low, “It’s not the first time anyway. Everything’s always my fault, you get used to it for a while.”

He hates it. Hates the way Lance glittering eyes are closed tightly, the way his mouth trembles, he opens his mouth to interrupt but Lance shakes his head.

“It’s fine now. _We’re_ fine now. But I’m always stuck with these stupid _feelings_ in me that just won’t get away. Happy, sad, jealous, angry, but it’s more than that isn’t it? It’s _desire_ , to prove that I’m something worthy for my family. It’s _failure_ because, because,” he chokes, thumping the sand with his hand,

“ _Lance,”_ he doesn’t know if he wants to hear this, he doesn’t want Lance to break into pieces for this, ( _he fears he can’t fix it back together if he does,)._

“No no no _listen._ ” He swallows, and this time it comes out in a whisper, “When I started coming out,” a shift in the air, Ryan gasps when he finally pieces it together. The tight grip on his shoulder, the guarded look. “My…. dad didn’t take it so well. He spent several years living quietly outside the city before he met my mom. I mean he never says it outright, but I can tell. Its so fucking dumb right? Years and years from now and I bet the same fucking problem always comes out, I mean _come on_ when it will it _really_ be ‘the future’?”

“I know he’s better now, that I’ve come to terms with who I am and so has he but when I was at the Garrison and young and so fucking stupid I’d thought as being bi as being a _failure_. That if I could just _prove_ to him that I can do one thing right he’ll finally look at me in the eye without wincing.”

Lance stops for a moment, breathing in, giving out a noisy exhale, “Well! Then I guess there’s _hope_ too. Man, you don’t know how pumped I was to know _the_ Shirogane had a boyfriend, went fucking ballistic, and that sometimes it’s okay to trip, I have my team to make sure It doesn’t get worse, that I _do_ feel alone sometimes but there’ll always be someone to meet me.”

“Hunk?”

“Hey, you said it.”

He shakes his head, grits his teeth together and prays this won’t blow back at him,

“Lance, what do you really want?”

He stiffens when he hears Lance’s breath hitch. Starts to regret it as soon as Lance mutter, “ _Why would you- “_ but he stops. Straightens his back and stares at the dark horizon of the sea.

“I want…”

His blue eyes shine in the dark like this, gems buried in the deep sea. Lance laughs suddenly, a loud breathless sound,

“I want to fly _so fucking high_ none of this even matters anymore.”

There’s a beat, then two before he claps his hand, just as sudden and starts to shift his legs.

“Welp okay! That’s my whole my life story! Now you see why we can’t be together?” Wait what. “This has been _super_ fun cutting out my guts for you like this, but I think it’s time we say goodb- “

_“No.”_

He snatches Lance’s wrist before he can get away, shaking his head when Lance won’t _look_ at him, “Lance why do you keep running away? I don’t- “he sighs harshly, “I _want you._ Don’t you understand- “

“No!” Lance barks at him, tries to tug his hand away but he holds it firm. He won’t lose this chance, _he won’t, “you_ don’t understand. I’m a _fucking_ mess! This is what it’s supposed to be about _Ryan,_ I’m _egotistical, sensitive_ and fucking _stupid_. You! You think you can just- _Want me_ and not regret it the next fucking day? You think I don’t know that you’re just gonna _leave me_ after all this? _No,”_ there’s tears trailing down his cheeks, his back is shaking, thunderstorms down his shoulders, flooding through his heart.

But he doesn’t leave his eyes, he will _never_ let go, “I’m _not_ going through that again, I _won’t, I can’t-”_ Lance sobs.

“Lance.”

“Shut up!”

“ _Lance!”_

They’re both breathing heavily, shaking with a tremor unlike the peaceful wind that passes over them. It blows Lance’s hair to the side, makes the tear tracks gleam on his skin. He reaches a hand out to Lance tentatively, not stopping even when Lance flinches when his thumb strokes his wet cheeks. “Hey,” he says softly, careful to hold his heated face gently, wiping the wet marks away, “Look at me?”

And there it is; dark aquamarine, quiet thin whimpers, harsh bitten lips. And he takes it, this Lance. All the Lance before this and the ones yet to come and he _tells him._

“ _I love you.”_ He grunts when Lance shakes his head, “ _Listen,_ when I first met you I wanted your fire, your sharp eyes and your quick wit. When we met again, I admired your perseverance, the way you _care_ for others like no one did, your will, the easy smile on your lips.” His heart is explosions upon explosions in his chest, his blood a river that rushes to his ears,

“When you stayed with me I fell for your mistakes, your stupid jokes, your loud voice- _Lance,_ the one I see here, I love whatever you are, whatever you decide to be, you’re _amazing_. I don’t care how others see you, how you see yourself,” He exhales shakily, and smiles, crooked and small,

“Lance, I just see _you.”_

It’s a long, long moment before anything moves again. Has the waves stop dropping back to the sands? He’s not sure. Then, it’s the loud wrecking sound of Lance crying in his hands, the wind blows past them, louder than ever. He stumbles, “L-lance? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you right- “

“ _Shut up,”_ he gasps though, when the whole clamouring limbs goes over his shoulders, on his lap, taking his breath away as he feels blazing hot fire on his lips. Lance kisses him desperately, with demand. ‘ _Get closer’_ his hands say as it tugs his head down by pulling his hair, he groans in return. ‘ _I want to feel you’_ his chest command pushing it to him, his heart beating just as fast as his. ‘ _Don’t leave’_ his lips plead, wet and melding onto him. Lance bites his bottom lip, he moans as their tongues touch.

He doesn’t know if its his weak knees, or Lance’s weight that throws them into the sand but he’s not complaining. His mind is filled only with the repeated deafening roar of ‘ _Oh, oh god.’_ And through all of that, the bitten ears, strangled moans, wet kisses, and hot grinding he hears Lance’s soft whisper, “ _Me too.”_ It says, reverent and shy, “ _I love you too.”_

-

 

He’s grateful for his past self that thought to put his alarm near the right side of the bed. That way, he doesn’t have to move Lance in his arms to reach and turn it off. Another lovely thing: Lance’s ridiculously fluffy soft hair. He runs his fingers through them, humming when Lance mumbles in his sleep, lets his eyes fall shut when Lance nuzzles closer to his chest.

The lights in his room starts to turn brighter though, he wishes he’d didn’t set it up that early. Well, he usually gets up to meet Lance but when he already _has_ Lance in his bed the last thing he wants right now is to get up.

“Mmmmhhhmmm…” he chuckles lowly, a bubbling joy overflowing somewhere in his heart. He pecks the tip of Lance’s nose, watching steadily as Lance blinks his bleary eyes open, “mmmm’time’sit?”

“Morning,” his hands wander down Lance’s back, tracing his spine. He keeps a straight face as Lance grumbles at him for that, but breaks it into a smirk when he starts kneading the back of his thighs and Lance tries to stifle his moan by mumbling about late mornings and…special waffles? No matter, his collarbone still has fresh hickeys from last night, and he loves it when Lance starts sucking on them even if it did leave him blushing to his ears.

 It takes them a little while longer to get off the bed.

They get in the shower together after that, and he’s pretty sure they’d used up all the hot water, but he doesn’t mind. The image of long wet legs around him is branded in his mind now, no one can take that away from him. And when they’d finally dressed up,

_(‘Sooo I’m just gonna go back home with the clothes I wore yesterday?’_

_‘Do you want to go in wearing my clothes instead?’_

_‘Good point.’)_

Standing in his room, Lance peers at him questioningly when he stoops down and opens the drawer there. He stares down at the floor demurely when he shows Lance the earrings, ( _considering everything they’ve done last night, this was hardly the time to turn shy really,)_ He whips his head up when he hears a sniffle, mortified to see Lance trying to hold back his tears again.

But Lance shakes his head with a watery smile before taking the earrings from him. And. And. And after, he’d tell the others that no, he won’t be leaving for the Garrison. He’s planning to stay with his boyfriend for a while. Then, him and Lance would walk through the city, he’d show the old jets, they’d fly for the sake of it. Lance would egg him on in a silly shoot out with his grandpa’s old nerf guns, and it’ll be perfect and vivid. Every minute he has with Lance is a treasure, he sets it aside for the quiet days and dark nights. This is how he wants it to be, and he wishes he can have it for the rest of his life.

Now though, Lance touches the sapphire earrings carefully and tilts his head to the side,

“ _it suits you.”_ He tells Lance.

And he’ll never get tired of this; Midnight aquamarine, bright laugh,

“ _Yeah?”_

Lance stares at the mirror, at himself. And his heart swells when Lance smiles, soft and genuine.

“I think so too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did they eat cake by the ocean? did ryan ~somehow~ have lube in his pocket? Lol I dunno, anyway s7 was pwetty rockin, im not touchin any of the fandom drama, me love this ship very much LET IT RISE
> 
> I have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/crazydurians)! and check out my other [fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaMochi/works) too! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated!


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